That Damned Letter
by HappyKittens
Summary: A story about Mr. Burns around the WW2 era.  With his father gone and declared dead, C. M. Burns gets his father's atom mill. Not long after, he gets a terrible letter. He's been drafted.
1. A New Job

Montgomery Burns wandered into the large office that had once been his father's. He had inherited the Atom Mill, and half of his father's money, the other half being given to Burn's mother and brother. Wonderful. Burns always knew he had been the favorite.

The office was simply amazing. It was austere, which the young Monty Burns loved. The walls were an off-white, and the floor was plain, polished wood. There was one large window, and a huge desk in front of it, facing the over-sized door he had just come through. Even the chair was quite large. The sun shone into the window brilliantly, making the chair dark. If he were sitting in it, and someone came to see him...

Monty Burns grinned. The perfect way to strike fear into his fellow man. His father had the right idea. It was certainly a shame that his mother's affair with Taft had ruined it all. Turned the man into a simpering goon! Disgusting.

Ignoring the memories of his broken father, Monty walked around the desk, trailing his long fingers across the smooth surface, and carefully sat himself in the chair. Tenting his fingers, Monty Burns leaned forward and imagined people coming in to see him. Light would be cast perfectly over their faces, but they wouldn't be able to see him at all!

Brilliance. Sheer brilliance.

Burns knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that all of his future offices would be like this one in one way or another.

The door opened. An older man, probably around fifty or so, peeked inside.

"Mr. Burns?" He asked, looking directly at the chair.

"What is it?" Burns asked. He was annoyed with this interruption; he wanted to fantasize about scaring all who entered. This man wasn't even scared! What use was that?

"There's a phone call. For you."

Mr. Burns stood up, and crossed the long office. Pulling the door from the older man, Burns realized that he was easily a whole foot taller than his father's old assistant. With a wicked smile, Burns pushed the man aside and went to where the phones were.

"We must upgrade these things; see to it that there's a _modern_ telephone machine in my office by morning." He called over his shoulder.

Montgomery made sure to get to his office early the next morning. Either he had a wonderful new device to learn to use, or he had an assistant to replace. Either way, the day promised to be a good one.

With a slight push, the door swung in. Burns paused to take the doorknob and pull the door shut again. It clicked slightly when it shut.

He turned around. The fifty-something assistant was sitting at his desk, right outside Burns' office door. He was asleep; his grey hair laying messily over his face. Monty Burns looked at the nameplate to learn the man's name.

"Davies!" Monty Burns barked. The man awoke so violently that he nearly fell out of his seat. It took all Monty's will to not smile at the pathetic sight. Davies looked up at Burns.

"You have a working phone in your office, sir. I saw to it personally."

"Good." Burns said, a little let down at the didn't get to fire the man. Ah, well. The day would be better spent making is office look more threatening than mocking those who make their feeble attempts at taking Davies position anyway.

Burns motioned at his door. "However, this will not do. The door opens at the slightest touch," Burns demonstrated. The door swung open with only a tiny squeak. "And it closes silently." Again, he demonstrated. The door wasn't silent, however. There was a click as it shut.

"The door needs to be heavier, and it needs to slam shut suddenly. Also, the door should squeak more." Burns said.

A squeaky door would be a perfect excuse for insulting anyone who came into his office. Oh, Monty Burns would do it, squeak or no, but the more reasons, the better.

Davies stared at Burns for a moment. Although they didn't look anything alike, Monty Burns was exactly like his father. Mostly. Monty's father had preferred a silent door because he felt that the quiet was unsettling to any visitors he had. So, the child wasn't a complete copy of his father. That couldn't be bad.

"I'll get right on it. Do you want a new door, or do you want this one weighed down?"

Monty Burns turned to look at the door. It had his father's name carved onto it, and it was painted white. "A new one. With my full name on it. No... Just "C. M. Burns". Make sure it's carved in at about six foot on the door, so it's above most people's eye-lines. And the letters should be large." He paused thoughtfully. "Or should they be small?" He pressed a finger to his lips and gazed thoughtfully in Davies' direction.

"Smaller is more difficult to read. It may make some of your guests uneasy. On the other hand, large letters insinuates that you're powerful. Although, they may think you're compensating. Smaller letters would be more subtle. As if you don't need to announce yourself."

Burns nodded. "Small letters it is. And it should be a dark wooden door."

"Your father liked the white one. He checked it for fingerprints after every guest left."

Monty Burns looked confused for a moment. "And?"

"And," Davies shrugged, "if they left fingerprints or dirt on the door, he called them back later that day to yell at them and make them clean the door."

"Hmm..." Burns looked thoughtfully at the door. It was spotless. In fact, he hadn't noticed the shine coming from it before. "I think a white door would be best. Now, get on it." Burns clapped his hands twice, and disappeared into his office.


	2. The Letter Arrives

Montgomery Burns was staring out the window. Three floors down, he could see a small yard with a single, ratty picnic table at it's center. A group of workers were at, or near, the table. All were eating lunch or talking. What a waste of time. 

The sound of someone knocking on the office door drifted over to Monty.

"Come in." He called, still watching the workers below him.

A minute later, Burns heard a tray being set on his desk, and the soft sound of papers being set beside the tray.

"I have your lunch, and your mail." Davies said.

"Excellent." Montgomery said, as he turned his chair around to face his desk. He picked up his sandwich. "Open those for me. I can't do it while I eat."

Davies was tempted to roll his eyes. The similarities never ended. Obviously, the young Burns had seen his father at work multiple times. Instead of eye-rolling, Davies picked up the first envelope and tore it open.

"Who is it from?" Burns asked before biting into his sandwich.

Davies looked at the front of the envelope. "It's from the Selective Services."

He opened the letter as Monty Burns looked up at him, completely horrified. He couldn't seem to speak, not that he could think of anything to say.

He watched as Davies looked at the letter than the envelope contained. "You're being drafted."

Montgomery Burns stood up and snatched the letter from his assistant. "Obviously, you ninny!" He shouted. He dropped back into his chair and read the letter over. It explained where he had to go, and when he had to go there. The rest didn't seem important at the moment.

Tossing the letter on the desk, Burns weakly dismissed Davies. When the door shut, Burns stood up and looked out the window.

"You don't know how lucky you are." He muttered, resting one hand on the glass as he stared down at his employees. "Down there, eating and having a good time. Don't you know there's a war on?" He asked angrily. He turned around the punched the chair, but it hurt his hand.

"Blast!" He said, rubbing his hand. He leaned on his desk and stared at it for a while.

"If I'm going to suffer," Burns growled, curling his hands into fists and closing his eyes, "then so will everyone else!"

Whirling around, Burns stood and waited until everyone came back inside from their lunch break. When the last straggler was inside, he smiled to himself. He was going to make the most of this.

Montgomery Burns left his office. "Davies. Come." He said curtly as he walked past his assistant's desk. Davies got up, and followed Burns at a decent distance.

They got the break room first. Five employees sat there, talking. They didn't stop when Burns entered., after all, Burns looked nothing like his father, so they didn't know him. Burns cleared his throat a couple times to get their attention.

Finally, one looked up. "Can I help you?" He asked.

"You can." Burns furrowed his eyebrows. "I am Charles Montgomery Burns." He explained, setting a hand on his chest. The horrific light of comprehension winked on each face in the room. Burns smiled. "Yes, your new boss. As you know, my father was killed and I got this mill in his will." He chuckled at the rhyme, then continued. "I am also unfortunate in the fact that I am the perfect age for drafting. I got my letter this morning."

He paused to look at the faces of the employees. They didn't understand what he was getting at. "since I won't be around, this place is useless to me. I'm selling the Atom Mill. You're all fired."

Burns didn't wait for them to reply. He left, a sadistic grin spreading across his face.

As he walked through the halls, he came upon another employee simply walking by. "You're fired!" Burns said, pointing at him and walking past, ignoring the man's confused objections.

He went through the whole mill in that manner. He personally told each person that they were fired. More often than not, he didn't explain who he was or why they were fired. He let Davies sort that out. It was easier that way. Besides, Davies was earning his paycheck!

When Burns finally arrived back at his office, Davies knew what was coming.

"I'm fired. I know."

"You're not fired until you sort through all this mess. There are paychecks to be dispensed, and probably a few more snags left to deal with. Deal with them. I'll have someone come down to help you, sell the mill, and fire you later on. I'm going home early."

"Yes sir." Davies sighed, as Burns left.

-

On top of a hill in the middle of a fairly empty graveyard was a large black stone. From where Burns stood, he couldn't read what it said. He frowned, and started toward it, passing no graves on his way.

He stopped in front of the stone, and admired the way the sun reflected off of it.

"I sold the atom mill." Burns told it. "I fired everyone."

He paused, having a mild paranoid moment, and looked behind him. No one was there. Good. He turned back.

"I'm sure you'd be disappointed in me for not keeping the mill running while I'm off in Europe, but what you think doesn't really matter, does it?" He paused, as if the memorial would answer him. He shrugged, and continued. "No, it doesn't. Because you're dead. If I'm going to risk my life, I want all of my money safely multiplying, so when I get I can cash in and be richer than I am now."

Again, Burns paused. He opened his mouth again, but couldn't think of anything else to say. He closed his mouth and sighed.

"Pater, I'm sorry. I'm sure you would have been happier if your memorial was in an older and more prestigious graveyard. I did the best I could with what I had at the time. Thanks to those bumbling lawyers mater had handle your will, I couldn't get my money until nearly six months after they said you were dead.

"That should also explain the shoddy quality of your memorial. It's not nearly as large as I had hoped, and you can't read it from the street. I know that the _old_ you wouldn't approve."

Burns frowned at the black stone memorial for a moment. The new version of his father, the way he had been before he disappeared and was assumed dead, was another story.

For a moment, Burns thought sickeningly of the last time he saw his father. An open suitcase on the bed, half packed, and his father looking down at some photograph in a frame as he sobbed. That man was not his father. He was less than a shell of his former glory. The memory made Burns shudder involuntarily before he looked back up at the memorial.

What a waste.

With a small, annoyed sigh, Burns turned and left.


End file.
